build it up to break it down
by hannabanana13
Summary: High School AU: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry swore that if he ever had children, they would not grow up with magic. Now middle aged, Harry Potter lives in a Muggle house with his Muggle family and feels content.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed. Harry Potter is not mine. Several AU characters are.**

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Voldemort was dead, the world had been saved.

But Harry Potter had sworn on his parent's graves that he would not raise his children in a world with so much evil. Maybe it was Lupin's death, or Fred's or Tonks'. But either way, Harry couldn't stand the thought of magic for long after. He moved to the English countryside and bought a house with his parent's fortune.

He married Ginny two years later, after she magically appeared on his doorstep and kissed him in the foyer. He told her that he would never tell his children about the magic of Hogwarts.

She married him anyway.

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Twenty years later, Harry feels comfortable in his own skin. At thirty-seven, maybe it's because he never expected to live past sixteen, maybe, because he died once-in the dark of the Forbidden Forest, in the woods behind the famous castle. Either way, middle aged, he lives in a Muggle house with his Muggle family and feels content.

He can't help but stay away from the castle though. Hogwarts holds a magic many don't realize. Beyond the spells and the teachers, the lessons and wizards, there is a magic there that not many have discovered.

Maybe you have to be an orphan, such as Harry, to experience the magic of Hogwarts, of the castle that becomes your house, the stone walls that hide away your home. Maybe you have to be lonely and scared, to find peace inside these walls.

Harry Potter can't stay away.

Moments before he proposed to Ginny, he swore to her that he would never tell his children about the magic of Hogwarts. He would never speak of the War. Of the Death Eaters. She had no problem with his decision, maybe she thought he would change his mind.

Harry is tempted now.

As an Auror, he visits the castle occasionally. Sometimes to wander the wide stone halls and watch the students pass. Other times on business. To see the headmaster about a dark wizard. A fugitive.

He can still feel the magic, as he tries to avoid the open stares, the whispers. But sometimes Harry feels just guilt in his stomach, as tight as a knot, when he thinks of his children. James is already fifteen, a spitfire if he'd ever seen one, and brave. Harry is sure he would be in Gryffindor. He has never seen a wilder child.

And Albus-_Al_, is a scientist-in Muggle terms-and Harry tries not to picture him in front of a cauldron instead of his beakers and bottles.

Lily is eleven and bright, with bright red hair and warm brown eyes, and Harry knows, knows she would love Hogsmeade. The candy shops. Would love the Gryffindor fireplaces, the Quidditch field, the Owl Towers.

Harry shakes his head as if this will chase away all of his guilty thoughts. When he swore twenty years ago never to let his children see the wizarding school, he did not imagine the grief it would cause.

Ginny, always the smarter one, just sits by and lets him think. Perhaps she knows, better than he will, if Harry will change his mind.

Only time will tell.

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**This story (****_if I decide to continue_****) will be short mentions by many of the Potter, Weasley and several AU children. Should I continue? Any recomendations for the characters? I thought Dominique Weasley would be in love with Teddy, James would be a sarcastic troublemaker, and Lucy Weasley would be a badass. Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

Hugo twitches uncomfortably on the hard wooden stool. "Ouch, Mum!" He yells impatiently, attempting, without much success to move out of reach of her wand and mediocre (at best) hair cutting skills.

"Sorry, sorry!" Hermione mumbles, staring down at the book in her hands. "Your grandmother usually does this, you know!" She says exasperatedly, as she turns the pages. "It's not my fault she went to Uncle Percy's for dinner. I'm no good at cutting hair."

Hugo sighs, and closes his eyes, trying not to clutch his ear in pain. "Mum?"

Hermione stills behind him, perhaps startled by his serious tone. She has always been good at reading him, maybe she already knows what he will ask. He twists around halfway on the tall stool. "Why isn't Lily going to Hogwarts with me?"

His mother can't seem to understand that he isn't a child anymore, and she wraps his in a backwards hug. He's eleven for goodness sakes, and tomorrow he will be on a train to Hogwarts. Hermione releases him after a moment, pulling out her book again and sniffling suspiciously. "Your sister knows, so I suppose I should tell you too, huh?"

Hugo starts to nod enthusiastically, and then remembers his mother is attempting to trim his unruly red locks. He freezes in place, lest he come into contact with a wandering spell. "Yes."

"You know Uncle Harry-" She begins, as if he could forget his uncle, who at the young age of seventeen, saved the world from the most dangerous wizard to ever walk the Earth. He nods, urging her to continue, he's always been interested in anything concerning his parent's famous best friend. "He suffered a lot in the War and he-um, he decided that his children would never go to Hogwarts. He wanted them to live normal lives, that is why we don't see them often. Harry did not want them to know of magic."

"That's dumb."

Hermione gasps. "What?"

Hugo's hand jumps to his mouth, sometimes he can't stop his thoughts from forming into words. "Sorry. I just mean-shouldn't it be their choice?"

"I suppose so." Hermione nods, comforted by his calmer answer. Some days Hugo thinks Hermione believes he is to much like his father. Ron has an annoying manner of saying what he is thinking also.

His mother tousles his trimmed hair, except for a scratch on his left ear caused by a wayward wand, he has survived unscathed. "You'll be fine tomorrow." She whispers in his ear. "Remember, Rose will be there with you."


	3. Chapter 3

"James!"

Ginny yells across the kitchen table, voice raised much to high for the close proximity. Her voice is angered but not furious, James has long learned to tell the difference. Anger will get him a scolding, but fury-a grounding.

James attempts his younger brother's usual angelic smile. By the look on her face, it did not succeed. Al somehow always convinces her of his innocence, James, however, was not blessed with this talent. He settles for apologetic. "I'm sorry, Mum."

"No you're not." Ginny calls back, hands clenching into fists on the table. "I just got off the phone with the school. They said that you have been to the principal's office four times since school started! _James, _it's September. Four times, already?"

James can't help it, he smirks. It's a smile he's perfected over the years, and it's one that pisses off any adult in a ten mile radius. He's proud of his achievements this week. Not many high school students can say they broke into the secretary's office and-during class-switched out the bands "_Star Spangled Banner_" tape for "_American Pie_". And, Al conned the lunch lady into giving him all of her ketchup, and James switched it out for hot sauce. Overall, quite a successful couple of days.

"You know," Ginny says, startling James back to the present. "You should learn not to get caught."

James nearly gapes at her. He has been waiting for the explosion since she first yelled his name in frustration. "_What_?"

"You get caught a lot." His mother states, rather matter-of-factly, since she is insulting her oldest without seeming to realize it. "You need to work on not getting caught. Ask Al to teach you the puppy dog eyes. Maybe then the teachers will let you off easy." Ginny grins.

James smiles with her, but he's still a little bit insulted. "You were exaggerating though. I only went to the office twice this week. And once was for grades."

This, obviously, was the wrong thing to say, as Ginny raises one eyebrow, and narrowed her bright brown eyes. "Remember what I told you. You have to get A's and B's to get a car when you turn sixteen."

James does remember, it's only a year away, how could he forget? But he rolls his eyes at her and leaves the table. James stomps up the stairs to his bedroom, throwing back the comforter on his bed, and sinking into it. A voice from the corner of the room startles him, and he raises his head off the pillow to see Lily.

At eleven, she's still small for her age. Short, with Ginny's long red hair, and warm brown eyes, she could be her mother as a child. Lily _is_ more like her mother than the rest of them, maybe in the fear of being left behind, in the ferocity in which she loves, in the stubbornness that never leaves.

"Lily?"

"I was just looking for something." Lily explains, looking down at her feet, her long red hair falling across her eyes. She sounds guilty, which is usually a tone reserved for himself.

"In my room?" James asks, staring around. His room is very messy: clothes spewed across the floor, books in random stacks, school work exploding from the trashcan. There's nothing in his space that an eleven year old would want.

Lily nods to his question. "I was looking for the picture of Teddy and Victoire." She sounds embarrassed now, although James has no idea why.

"Why?"

"I just want it." Lily sighs, perhaps frustrated he doesn't understand. Most days he does not know how her mind works. "I'm making a photo album, of our _family_." She explains.

"That's nice. Well, ask Mom. I don't have it." James tells her, sinking back onto his bed. He wonders briefly if his little sister has a crush on Teddy. But he shakes the thought away: he's already making plans on sneaking out when he hears her leave the room, her quiet footfalls, nearly silent on the worn brown carpet.


	4. Chapter 4

Dominique Weasley shoves the last stack of school books into her trunk and jumped on the lid. No matter how many times she bounced, it wouldn't close. She sighs and stick her head out the door of her bedroom. Her younger brother lived right down the hall of their small cottage on the shore, and he was supposedly packing, but maybe he would lift his head from his Charms textbook and help her.

"Louie?" She calls down the hall. "Louis."

He emerges from his room, in a worn blue flannel shirt, his reddish brown hair combed perfectly. She sometimes wonders if maybe he is really Uncle Percy's child, and her cousin Lucy is her father's, because some days, the roles seem reversed. "What?" His voice is filled with annoyance, his expression still befuddled, as if he was in the middle of an important chapter of whatever textbook he was preparing for.

"Can you help me close this?" Dominique asks, rising halfway off the suitcase to show him the stuffed luggage.

Louis sighs, and she can see all the judgment in those brown eyes, probably for saving the packing for the night before. But he still agrees. He watches her though, in that annoyingly analytical way, before he leaves the room.

Dominique wonders if her feelings are written across her face as if in the black Sharpie pens the Muggles use. _She does not love Teddy._ She has been telling this to herself for three years now. Teddy is not hers. _Teddy is Victoire's_. Dominique thought she had become good at pretending, but her younger brother's expression proved otherwise.

She has been trying not to think about the scruffy haired Metamorphagus, however, so she heaves the suitcase onto it's side and trudges downstairs.

Her mother, Fleur, is standing at the stove, cooking steak. Her wand is held loosely in her right hand, and she twirls one lock of perfect white blonde hair around one finger. Fleur turns around at the sound of her footsteps, and rushes over to help her with the trunk.

Upon first glance, Fleur Delacour looks like-what she is-part veela. Perfect features, long silky blonde hair, charming voice. Victoire is just as beautiful, just as tall, just as angelic.

Dominique inherited her mother's blonde hair, but it isn't silky like her mother's. Instead, her long locks are nearly curly with their misbehavior. And nobody watches when Dominique walks by, unless of course, she is tripping down a staircase or something similar.

Maybe she will always live in her sister's shadow.

"_Dominique_." Fleur says, her French accent heavy with exasperation. Apparently, she has been calling her name for several moments now. "Iz this all of your _thingz_?"

Dominique nods, and escapes upstairs before her mother can see her cry. Up in her room, she pulls out Teddy's picture, the one she stares at nearly every night. With the creased corner, and tear stains on the back.

She _loves_ him. But he is caught somewhere between Lily and Victoire. Why can't he love her?

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**_Review?_**


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